Winter's Mourn

by Mary Stone

  “Go. I’ve got it.” Noah had already stretched out on the bed, barefoot. His hair was still darkened and wet, curling a little at his neck. He was reading her notes, notebook in one hand, his phone in the other. “I’ll check in with Benton. See if Sam’s turned up yet.”

  “You need a haircut.”

  Winter felt like an idiot when he quirked a smile at her and lifted the phone to his ear. His green eyes crinkled a little at the corners when he grinned like that. She hadn’t meant to comment on his hair at all. She grabbed her last clean outfit and retreated to the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her with more force than necessary.

  She showered and changed quickly, braiding her towel-dried hair. It had only taken about fifteen minutes, but by the time she came out, Noah had his shoes and coat on and was ready to roll.

  “No Sam updates. Benton’s close to pulling his hair out. I also added a few names to your list of possible acquaintances. Double checked a couple of other databases and didn’t find any Jenna Archers born to any Rebekah Archers…or Becky Fletchers, for that matter.”

  He picked up the black bag that held his laptop and slung it over his shoulder. She slipped into a pair of flats and pulled on the jacket that she usually wore to cover up her service weapon.

  “It’s a good thing you don’t take as long as most females to get ready.” Noah eyed her from hair to feet. “We’ve got an appointment with David Benton. I’d hate to keep the guy waiting after he went to all the trouble to fit us into his cramped schedule.”

  “He agreed to meet with us?” Winter asked in surprise. “I thought we’d just drop in on him and demand he talk. How did you manage another interview?”

  Noah smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Since we couldn’t turn up any dirt on such a vaunted pillar of the community, I had to resort to veiled threats. I as much as promised I’d leak the whole story as we know it right now to the press. Put it under the guise of enlisting the public’s help in breaking a cold case. I also implied that as one of the few former cult members we know of, I couldn’t guarantee his name wouldn’t come up. As you can imagine, Mr. Benton has suddenly become very cooperative.”

  David Benton finished his brandy and lit another of his short cigars. He’d asked Maria to take Jake out to a movie and dinner for the rest of the afternoon, to avoid any more unexpected interruptions.

  He paced in front of the bay window of his study, his heels clicking restlessly on the marble tile. How to play this? The asshole FBI agent had to be bluffing. There was no way he’d compromise his investigation by bringing in the press at this point. And he had no way of knowing that it was only because of David’s intervention that reporters hadn’t been camped out at the spot in the woods since the beginning.

  It was a small town, but few people knew what was going on up there. He’d had to grease a few palms to keep it that way. There was no guarantee how long that would last.

  David felt like his world was crumbling apart, brick by brick. He was only keeping everything together by strength of will, and even that was starting to fail him.

  He cursed himself again for losing control. He was famous for his self-command, but when Jake had rolled into the office, he’d panicked. He should have known that they’d check out his story. He didn’t have a sister. They were probably just as aware of that as he was at this point.

  He flicked back the curtain and felt his armpits dampen with sweat as the black unmarked sedan pulled into his driveway.

  He stubbed out the cigar in an ashtray and grabbed a couple of mints from the tin in his desk. When the doorbell rang, he had himself pulled together again, greeting his visitors in Maria’s absence with his usual cool composure.

  “Agents, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Another lie.

  Agent Dalton gave him a hard handshake that carried a challenge. Winter just looked at him, her eyes icy.

  “Come into my office,” he urged them with a smile that he hoped was welcoming. “You know the way by now, of course.”

  “Of course.” Agent Dalton gave him a look that bordered on smug, and David wanted to punch him. He set his back teeth and followed them into the room, still hazed in blue cigar smoke.

  When everyone was settled, drinks offered and denied, Winter wasted no time in coming to the point. “Is your son here today?” Her voice was hard. She didn’t look anything like the scared, skinny little girl he remembered from so many years before. This Winter was smart and cold.

  He schooled his expression into blandness, trying one more bluff. “I’m afraid Tom’s not here.”

  “We know. Tom is busy with his own concerns right now. My partner was probably referring to Jake, the son you denied was yours.” Noah sat back in his chair and crossed a leg, his face looked carved from stone.

  David hated being on the defensive. “I’m sure you understand, I’m very protective of Jake.”

  “Sure.” Noah’s expression didn’t change. “Any good father would be. As long as you understand that it’s generally a bad idea to lie to the FBI.”

  Winter’s nostrils flared, the only hint of emotion she provided. “We need your cooperation this time. No bullshit. Your daughter-in-law and future grandchild’s lives could depend on it.”

  David felt his hands go cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell us about the Disciples.” Her face was set. Implacable. But in her eyes, he saw something. Worry?

  “What does this have to do with my son’s wife?”

  “She’s missing,” Winter replied, her blue eyes like lasers in his skin. “Since earlier today.”

  His heart was pounding. “Again, what does that have to do with the Disciples? Wesley Archer’s been dead for years.”

  A few more carefully placed bricks were coming loose. David’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t going to be able to salvage this situation.

  “We’ve got reason to believe there’s a connection,” Agent Dalton put in. “Maybe you can start at the beginning. Tell us about the Disciples of the Moon.”

  “I will,” he promised, sweat beading on his forehead. He could feel it. They could see it. “Just tell me what’s going on with Tom and Samantha, or I’m not saying another word.” He reached for his phone, lifted it from the cradle. “Forget it. I’ll call Tom myself.”

  “Samantha’s pregnant again. She’s also missing.” Winter leaned over and locked eyes with him. She reached out and pressed the disconnect button on the base. “I believe the events that began up near Linville decades ago have started up again.”

  After the initial stab of fear he felt at her flat statement, a calmness settled over him.

  David set the phone gently back in its cradle and sat back in his chair. He looked at the framed photo of Nancy sitting on his desk. It was taken the year before she got sick. She was standing next to Jake’s wheelchair, her hand on his shoulder and her other arm around a teenaged Tom.

  It was taken on one of their vacations to Florida. She was so gorgeous. Tanned, long-legged and windblown, wearing a bikini top, cutoff shorts, and a huge smile. She only ever had that carefree look when they were away. Away from Harrisonburg. Away from Virginia.

  Otherwise, she was watchful. Cautious. Scared.

  He wondered if the cancer had been growing inside her, even then.

  Agent Dalton cleared his throat, and David reached into his bottom desk drawer for a bottle. He poured another brandy. He always needed a brandy when he thought about the past. And he thought about it a lot.

  “We were so young,” he finally said, still looking at the picture of his wife. “Nancy and I. We got married in 1978. Nancy wasn’t born at the right time to be a flower child, but she didn’t let that stop her. It was her idea to move to the Archer farm.”

  David expected them to interrupt or to at least look victorious as he spilled his truth, but the agents sat in stony silence while memories flooded him.

  “I had my doubts, being raised in a conservative family. But the farm, the people
. I took to it. Nancy loved it there. Wesley Archer wasn’t some crazy-eyed Manson type. He was quiet and soft-spoken, kind and gentle. His vision was of peace. Love. The only oddity about him was that he was obsessed with the next generation.”

  “Babies?” Noah prompted.

  David nodded and took another drink. Remembering the next part was painful.

  “There was a religious aspect to everything. It wasn’t too far out and woo-woo. I was raised Catholic, and that would have weirded me out. Sent up red flags. Instead, we met on Sundays and prayed for peace. But it always ended with a prayer for the next generation and the future of humankind. And the fertility and good health of our wives. Nancy was one of the first to get pregnant. It was just a couple of months after we moved to the farm.”

  He closed his eyes on the memory of her telling him that joyous news. The celebration. The lovemaking that followed. The first time he felt the baby move under her skin.

  Swallowing hard, he took another sip of his drink before he was able to continue.

  “She was almost a celebrity among the couples that lived there. There were about five couples at that point, young and idealistic, married or not, starting lives together. We’d become almost like a family. The women banded around Nancy, and everyone watched her progress. Researched ways to combat morning sickness. Shared in the first movements, the first kicks. Our baby was added to the Sunday prayers, praised as the first of many to come. And then, finally, Jake was born.”

  He raised his eyes, pleading with them to understand. Dalton was watching him patiently. Winter’s hands were folded in her lap, fingers laced tightly.

  “I was never ashamed of my boy. As soon as I saw him, held him, even though I knew something wasn’t right, I never once regretted him being born.”

  “What about the rest of the group? Your wife?” Winter asked. “Archer? He put a lot of emphasis on perfection.”

  “Nancy loved Jake instantly and completely. She was made for motherhood. The women, including Wesley’s wife, Claire, had already formed a strong bond, and shared in the raising of Jake as if he were their own. Then another baby was born with severe birth defects.” David scrubbed his face with his hands. “And another after that.”

  David shuddered, remembering the broken little bodies.

  “What happened then?” Noah prompted.

  David sighed. “Sunday prayers became a little more fiery. Wesley became a little less kind, less gentle. We had to pray harder. Believe in our purpose. Two years in, we had three babies. Three babies with severe health issues. Three more women were pregnant. Things were less happy, there was more tension. Another woman gave birth. There was talk about God’s anger. Purity. Perseverance. Then, a baby disappeared.”

  21

  David Benton looked haunted.

  The longer he talked, the older he looked, until even his wrinkles deepened. He was a man dealing with remorse. Regret. Long-buried secrets.

  “By this time, you have to understand that these people were our friends. Our family. We worked together, prayed together. Lived together. When the first baby went missing, we grieved. But it was thought to be an act of God.”

  Noah raised an eyebrow. “God kidnapped a disabled baby?”

  David’s face reddened. Not in anger, but in guilt.

  “You don’t understand. You’d have to have been a part of this group to get it. We all believed in what we were doing at that point. We were faithful servants, living in a peaceful community, but for whatever reason, we were being tested. The mother became pregnant again almost immediately. We thought it was a sign.”

  “Whose baby was it?” Winter asked.

  “Andy and Catherine Kinney,” he answered with no hesitation. “They moved on before the second baby was born. I never knew where they ended up.”

  Winter scooted to the very edge of her seat. “Who else?”

  “Betty Talbot’s babies were next.” He scrubbed his face again. “She had twins. She and her husband went to bed one night, and the twins just disappeared. They were gone in the morning. No one heard or saw a thing. Wesley preached divine intervention, and they stayed for a month or two more, but ended up leaving. Betty died a few years later, and Jerry remarried. I heard he moved out somewhere in Montana during the mid-nineties.”

  Winter wrote notes as David talked, feeling like he’d be more comfortable if he felt like he wasn’t being scrutinized. Her hand trembled a little. She was having a hard time understanding how a group of people could just accept that their children were going missing and not do anything about it. Move away? Why didn’t they call the police? What kind of sway did The Bishop hold over them?

  “People continued to come and go over the years. Some families with small children of their own. The population of the farm became more diversified, not as many of the original members. Then, an older child, the baby born after Jake…a boy named Patrick. He was just gone one morning. Nancy was close to his mother, Joanna Bowman, and they were both devastated. Our kids played together. By that time, Jake was six, and Nancy and I decided to get out.”

  “Joanna Bowman?” Winter asked. “Darin Bowman’s wife?” She couldn’t believe they had found the key in David Benton. He was spelling out the names of the victims, one by one, and giving them a hell of a reason to suspect Wesley Archer was behind the murders.

  Patrick Bowman. Their first victim now had a name.

  “Joanna died a year before Nancy. Darin never remarried. Never got over the loss of his wife and child.”

  “What about Tony Collier? Are Jake and Alison still friends?”

  If David was surprised she knew about Tony’s daughter, he didn’t show it. “Alison was a little younger than Jake. She was the third baby born at the farm. They weren’t close, and I haven’t seen Tony in years.”

  His eyes darted down and to the left. He was lying about that.

  Noah didn’t miss it. “Except for when you told him we were coming to talk to him and to close ranks,” he put in pointedly.

  David sighed, his body deflating as the air hissed out from between his lips. He nodded. “Except for then.”

  “Why was your wife so paranoid, even after you left the farm?” Winter had wondered about that ever since Tom had mentioned it to them. If you were afraid of your child disappearing, why would you still be afraid after you removed them from the situation you feared?

  “Nancy wanted to leave Harrisonburg altogether, but my father passed away, and I inherited his car sales business. It was the only way I could see at the time to support the family. I threw myself into work and what I saw as real life, pretending our time there had never happened. But after the babies started going missing, Nancy would have nightmares. They didn’t end when we left Archer’s place. She was convinced someone was going to come for Jake. I never managed to assure her that it would all be fine. Even after Wesley killed himself, she’d still wake up in the middle of the night, screaming for Jake.”

  David looked up at them suddenly, his eyes blazing with anger, grief, and unshed tears. His face had turned a mottled red, and Winter feared he might be having a heart attack. “What, David? Tell us what you need to say.”

  A vein popped out across his forehead and the glass tumbler cracked in his hands. “I don’t regret Jake. Not at all. But I do regret ever hearing Wesley Archer’s name.”

  They managed to extract a promise from David to meet again, but it was obvious the man had shut down, and they wouldn’t get any more out of him that day. He’d lost the control over himself that he’d exhibited in their previous meeting. When they left, he looked like a broken man.

  “I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him,” Winter admitted. It was her turn to drive, and she hit the turn signal to make a left onto the tree-lined road that led from the enclave of wealthy homes back to Harrisonburg. “He obviously loved his wife, and whether or not he treats Tom fairly, he cares about his family.”

  “And now we have a name for at least one of the victims. We need
to speak to Tony Collier and Darin Bowman.” Noah sounded distracted, and Winter glanced at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just thinking. I’m trying to decide how everything ties together with Rebekah.”

  A deer darted out in the road, and Winter automatically tapped the brakes. It wasn’t a close call, but it was nearing dusk and a reminder to pay attention.

  She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel, missing her little car. She was getting used to its quirks, but the bigger sedan handled differently than she was used to. “All those women at the farm, it can’t be a coincidence that they later died of cancer. We haven’t come across a single female former Disciple. Did you find anything on the PFAS thing?”

  Noah didn’t immediately answer. He was watching his side mirror intently.

  “What is it?” She glanced in the rearview and frowned to see a black truck with its headlights off rapidly approaching.

  “Careful,” Noah warned. “There’s that wide bend up ahead. This asshole might try to pass.”

  On the left side of the road, a wooded hill sloped upward. The bend Noah was talking about curved to the right. She’d noticed it when they’d driven out to meet with David Benton before. The hill sloped more sharply on the other side of the hill, and downward into a gully.

  Within a few seconds, the truck was hard on their tail, and she tapped her brakes to flash her lights at him. He didn’t back off.

  Over the low hum of the radio, the truck’s engine roared even louder as the driver stomped on the gas, pushing the large vehicle faster. Winter gripped the steering wheel tighter as the front bumper kissed the back fender of the sedan, causing the car to swerve a little.

  “What the hell?” she muttered, accelerating. The truck dropped back, and she stared hard in the mirror to get a glimpse of the driver. She couldn’t see the occupants since the evening sunlight glared off their windshield.